


Kin's flag

by Mediumdinosaur



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fighting, Getting in Trouble, Immortals, Just you waaait, LANCES!, Magic, Multi, Politics, Romance, Swords!, but happy endings always, kings own, squires, very queer, young dumb squires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mediumdinosaur/pseuds/Mediumdinosaur
Summary: After Kel, and after Alan, Raoul has no interest in a third squire. He's contemplating retirement, and getting serious about starting a family with Buri.Unfortunately... life doesn't always go as planned.
Relationships: Raoul/Buri
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie’s Peak lounged on the bed, wearing nothing but breeches and frowning at the letter in his hands.

“Well, _I_ can’t decide for you,” Buriram Tourakom said, looking at her husband as she set down her hairbrush on a plain wooden chest of drawers.

Raoul sighed and ran a hand through his own dark hair.

“I didn’t want a first squire, let alone a third,” he told her.

“Did Alan tire you out, old man?”

He ignored the friendly taunt.

“Alan was _easy_. Kel was _easy_. This one sounds like a handful and a half.”

“Then good thing you have big hands,” Buri muttered.

Raoul lowered the letter and regarded her with a flat expression. “I’m not laughing at that, you know. You have to try harder.”

“If you don’t want to do it, just don’t do it,” Buri suggested. She leaned against the dresser and folded her arms.

“The dragon thinks if somebody doesn’t get him in shape, he won’t survive the chamber.” By _dragon_ he meant the writer of the letter, his formidable great-aunt, the Lady Sebila of Disart. Even in her advanced age, she oversaw their noble family with a precision any military commander could respect. Or—sometimes resent, depending on the direction her goals took.

“Well, does she know what she’s talking about?” Buri asked.

“I don’t know.” He folded the letter and put it on the night table with a sigh.

“Well, see the boy and decide for yourself.”

“More work,” Raoul grumbled.

“Since when do you complain about that?” Buri asked, unfolding her arms to put her hands on her hips.

“It would be nice to have more time together,” Raoul said wistfully. All their talks about starting a family kept petering out between the long hours, the constant riding, the endless problems that still plagued the realm. And they were _both_ starting to get older.

“Well, lad, perhaps you’d better learn to manage your time,” Buri said with a grin and a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

“Whatever are you suggesting?” Raoul said, grinning wolfishly back.

“Well, here we are, _very_ alone. You _could_ come over here.”

“You’re the one out of bed,” he pointed out. “ _You_ come _here._ ”

“You’re getting spoilt,” Buri said loftily. “All that commanding has gone to your head. _I_ don’t answer to your orders.”

“Ah, woman,” Raoul grumbled. He leapt from the bed and lunged at her, but Buri dipped and spun behind him, landing a playful hit on his backside as she did so.

“Really?” Raoul said, grabbing her wrist. She twisted out of the grip, grinning, but made no fuss when he backed her against the wall. Bending down, he closed the foot of height between them and kissed his wife full on the lips.

“You’re getting slow,” Buri teased when he pulled his mouth away.

“Slow? You take that back, Buriram.”

“Make me.”

“Why are you so difficult?” he asked.

“I thought you _liked_ me difficult.”

“Hm. That’s true.”

He lifted her by the hips, turned, and carried her back to the bed. He had just thrown her down onto it and knelt down over her when a loud knock came at the door.

“Horse lords,” Buri muttered in annoyance.

“Can it wait?” Raoul called, scowling.

“No, my lord,” the muffled voice replied.

“I’m not done with you,” Raoul whispered to her, then went to get the door.

\---

An hour later, as he rode out into the darkness with third company at his back, the good-natured man could not help but scowl. Not done with her, indeed.

Gods curse bandits. Gods curse every bandit in the realm.

Buri had offered to come, but he insisted she stay abed. She had not been home even half a day from an excursion with the Queen’s Riders, whom she still liked to accompany on occasion. At least one of them deserved to get a night of rest.

Not for the first time, Raoul contemplated a retirement from the Own. He wasn’t ready yet, he knew that; he had plenty of fight in him. The Knight Commander was not _that_ old.

The thought of carrying Buri off to Malorie’s peak for a quiet, pastoral life of fief management was appealing in his daydreams, but Raoul knew himself well enough to recognize the reality would probably bore both of them senseless. 

It was a hard ride through the night. Cresting a hill, they caught view of the smoldering village before dawn. The embers of the reduced houses glowed dramatically against the darkness. The stench of smoke and meat was in the air.

Through long practice, Raoul did not think about what sort of meat.

 _Time to get to work_ , he thought. He raised a gloved hand, visible in the moonlight, and the company drew their mounts to a walk.

\---

Four days later, he returned to the palace. Raoul trudged to the rooms he and Buri shared, twisting his neck one way and then the other to work out a kink in it. His armor needed cleaning. His clothes needed washing. He needed a long, hot soak in a tub.

He passed Jonathan coming the other way down the hall, trailed by advisors and a scribe.

“Mithros, Raoul. You stink,” the king said, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, I forgot to bring my perfume bandit hunting,” Raoul said sarcastically.

“So long as you’re back, there’s an ambassador from Maren here. So get yourself bathed and join us for dinner.”

For a moment, king and commander scowled at each other. The men and women trailing the king very pointedly found other things to look at. The scribe seemed particularly interested in one of the wall-sconces.

“Is that an order or an invitation?” Raoul at last growled.

“Don’t look so glum. You have to eat somewhere. I’ll send the details to your room.”

The king flashed Raoul a pearly smile and continued down the hall.

“Honestly. Sometimes I think he likes to torture me,” Raoul muttered to himself.

He arrived back at the rooms at last, ready to drop off his belongings and head to the bath.

“Buri?” Raoul called as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Silence greeted him, but that was not unusual; she was probably out riding—or with Thayet—or…

A piece of paper sat on the small table they shared meals at, his name scrawled across the top. He picked it up and read it with a dejected sigh.

_Raoul,_

_Spidrens. With fourth group, back Monday. Probably._

_Buri_

He didn’t even know what day it was. Saturday? Probably. Raoul tried to push down the pang in his heart. Their marriage worked because they both respected the other’s independence and work ethic, but that didn’t make it easy.

He wanted here here, _home_ , with him. Not off fighting monsters, risking her life and limb without him at her back.

Even though she _did_ know how to take care of herself.

\---

Raoul dunked his head underneath the water, then surfaced. He’d scrubbed clean already but wasn’t ready to leave the baths. It was nice being there at an odd hour; the communal room was next to empty. He welcomed the peace, and the opportunity to think.

Scratching his back, Raoul sighed.

The squire matter. Some young trouble-maker, and technically his cousin. _Could_ he say no? If he didn’t want to take the boy, he could at least make sure somebody else would. That ought to satisfy great-aunt Sebila.

Maybe Alanna. The lioness was good at getting troublemakers into shape, if only because by the third time she unleashed her temper, they were all as meek as frightened kittens. But if the boy really was a handful, Alanna might just turn him inside out and feed him to the dogs. Worse, she might get mad at Raoul for pushing an unwanted cousin on her. He grinned lopsidedly, and then sighed.

He’d go to see Padraig haMinch, the training master, tomorrow. And the boy, as well. After that, he’d try to figure out what to do.


	2. Training Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anybody reading <3 I hope you enjoy!

The stable was largely quiet. Here and there a horse shifted or nickered.

_Thud_. A bale of hay came crashing down onto the floor, sending a swirl of dust motes through the angled evening light. _Thud_. Another joined it.

“You should look, before you toss those over,” Raoul said, thumbs hooked in his belt. The tall man craned his neck back, searching for the figure he knew was in the stable loft. A head appeared over the edge, scowled at him, and drew back. A few grunts of exertion, and then— _thud_ —a third bale came crashing down, this time a dozen feet further away from where Raoul stood.

“Carac, right? I’d like to talk to you.”

“Busy,” the boy said.

“I hear you fell down.” Work in the stables was one of the great many types of punishments that could be found for rule-breaking pages.

 _Thud._ A fourth, final bale of hay came down on top of the third.

The boy began to climb down the ladder. He wore the red-and-gold page’s uniform, its tightness across the shoulders indicating recent growth. His brown hair was lighter than Raoul’s, and longer—tied back in a horse-tail—but had the same curly texture.

“I hear you fall down a lot,” Raoul continued.

The page at last reached the ground. Without looking at Raoul, he said:

“Are you here to lecture me?”

“No. I just want to talk.”

Carac cut the binds on one of the hay bales with his belt knife. He gathered an armful of the hay and carried it to the furthest stall, where he shoved it into a metal hay rack. The horse inside, a broad-backed bay, snorted at him disdainfully but took a mouthful.

“So talk,” Carac said, and grabbed another armful of hay.

Raoul’s eyebrows rose a little at the disrespectful tone. The easygoing Knight Commander was difficult to offended, but it wasn’t everyday an unproven boy snapped at him like that.

Undoubtedly, there was a family resemblance. At 16, old for a page, Carac was a scant inch shorter than Raoul. His face was just as broad and ruddy, though the features were sharper, and his eyes brown instead of black. A large bruise, the sign of a fight, swallowed one of Carac’s cheekbones.

Anger radiated from him. Too much of it, for someone so young.

“haMinch says you aren’t a bully. But _I’d_ think you’re too big to pick on,” Raoul said calmly, studying the boy. Carac stomped back and forth between hay bales and stalls, to all appearances ignoring Raoul as he divided the dried grass between the steeds.

An orange cat entered the stable. Carac’s hands were full of hay. He stood still as the cat minced between his legs, careful not to kick the feline. The cat rubbed against Carac for a moment, then sauntered over to Raoul.

Carac shoved the hay he was holding into the next stall’s rack, a violent motion. Raoul bent and let the cat sniff his fingers.

“Why are you in fights so often?” Raoul wanted to know. Carac paused, hands empty and gripped into fists.

“I’m not,” the boy said.

“Lying doesn’t suit you.”

“ _I fell down_.”

“I’m not your training master. You can tell me.”

Carac glared. Raoul sighed.

“Alright, fair enough. I know you aren’t supposed to speak of it. I’m just trying to understand you.”

“Stop trying,” Carac said.

 _What a personality_ , Raoul thought. _Definitely gets it from his father’s side. No Disart was ever so sour, though I suppose the stubbornness fits._

Raoul shook his head and threw up a hand.

“Peace, then. I’ll let you be.” The boy’s bark was worse than Alanna’s had been at that age, and Raoul simply did not care to weather it out. Add to that whatever conservative nonsense the boy had likely been fed by his father.

 _Kin should stick together_. The words from his great-aunt’s letter nagged at him for a moment as he turned away. He shrugged them off as quickly as they’d come.

It was a stupid saying. Surely it didn’t apply to temperamental second cousins once removed, and all the cost, time, energy, and effort that a squire entailed. Raoul had no desire to bear four years of whatever burr was in Carac’s backside.

\---

“Break,” called Raoul, his bellow loud enough to travel across the yard. The clink of metal on metal was swiftly replaced with chatter. An assortment of the Own, newer recruits mixed with seasoned fellows, balanced practice swords under elbows or against shoulders as they stretched and went to drink their water. It was Monday. The sun was not brutal, but warm enough they had all sweated through their gear.

One of the newcomers was a lanky man, sandy-haired and narrow-eyed. Raoul passed behind him in time to hear:

“We work non-stop in the field. I thought we’d at least get to rest back at the palace.”

“Next time there’s a knife at your throat, you’ll be glad for the extra training. Not the extra sleep,” Raoul said in a friendly tone, clapping the man on the shoulder.

The newcomer winced, turned, and bowed. Raoul gave him a smile and walked on. But he was not out of range when he heard the muttered response:

“Join the Own, ma said. It’ll be glorious, ma said.”

Raoul laughed with his whole body, a bellow that made the recruit stare at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” Raoul said, turning and trying to stop. “That gets me every time.”

“I’d walk away now. He’ll be laughing for a long while yet.” A familiar female voice came from the fence a dozen feet away. Raoul turned to see Buri leaning against it in riding clothes. A wide smile lit her face. Her black hair was swept back into a long braid.

He strode to the fence and leaned over it. Raoul took her face in his hands and kissed her firmly. If there was one good thing about their frequent separations, it was the reunions. Not only had he missed her, but it was undeniably good to see her in one whole and unharmed piece.

“Busy?” she asked when he broke away.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. A moment.” He turned and searched the crowd.

Qasim was halfway across the yard, demonstrating a disarm to one of the younger men. The Bazhir man nodded to his student, then reached out to gently adjust the man’s wrist.

Raoul strode over. Quasim was a sergeant now, no longer a corporal. He didn’t yet know it, but Raoul was considering him as a replacement for second company’s captain. Ulliver of Linden had recently announced his intention to retire.

“Can you take over?” Raoul interrupted, once he reached them.

“Of course. Is… oh, I see.” Qasim grinned and waved at Buri, who raised a hand in reply. “Go on. I hope I don’t see you before tomorrow.”

“Some things don’t need to be said out loud,” Raoul grumbled, a blush darkening his cheeks.

\---

They strolled hand in hand back towards the palace, recounting their separate missions. Buri was talking as they walked past the page’s training yard, where a group of uniformed young nobles worked on swordplay. A marked difference from a decade prior, three girls openly trained among the boys.

“So of course, we hadn’t found the nest before nightfall. And Padrach caught one of the civilians napping on sentry. Can you imagine? With Spidrens not—"

All of a sudden, a figure vaulted over the fence and ran towards them.

“ _CARAC_!” Padraig haMinch bellowed from the training-yard. “Get back here!” But the young man ignored the training master and kept running towards them. Raoul looked on in alarm as the tall page slid to a stop and bowed first to him, then to Buri.

“haMinch says you asked about me. For a squire. S’why you wanted to talk, isn’t it?”

Blunt. To the point. _Awkward_. Raoul had already decided not to take him. Curse Padraig for saying something. And it reflected poorly on Carac that he didn’t wait until his training was over to find Raoul. Certainly he’d be punished for it.

“I… briefly considered it,” Raoul said.

“Why? You don’t know me.”

“Sebila asked me to. We’re related. Distantly.”

“Oh. And?”

“I don’t think so.”

Carac’s jaw worked. He looked like he wants to say something. He looked away, his fists clenching and opening, clenching and opening.

“Shouldn’t you be back at your training?” Raoul said gently.

Carac turned back to face Raoul squarely, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Why? I already fence better than the others. Please, give me a chance to change your mind.”

“Discipline, that’s why. And pride gets people killed.”

Even if it was true. Padraig _had_ said he was a natural swordsman.

“It’s not pride. It’s true. I’m shite with bows, and a middling jouster. I don’t make false brags.”

“I’m sorry, but you aren’t suited to ride with the Own.” _Four years in and he has no discipline. He’d get someone killed in the field._

“I am. I can prove it. Let me prove it.”

“Lad…”

Carac flinched. “You can kick me out if I don’t work hard. Just give me a chance.”

“I think you’d better focus on next week's examinations. I’m sure someone else will take you.”

“Please. I won’t go with the others who have offered. They’re all…”

Buri had had her fill of listening. She threw up her hands, exasperated. “He said no. Don’t abuse his niceness.”

“I just…”

“Get back to your training yard before I drag you there by the ear, boy,” Buri said.

Carac blushed. He took one step back, then another. Then he turned and began to walk, head down.

Raoul stood in place and watched him go thoughtfully. Buri took two steps, realized he wasn’t coming, and turned.

“Don’t tell me you’re really thinking about it,” she said.

“No. But he listened to you.”

“So?” she glowered.

“So, I don't think he's a bigot like his brother is. Sorry, was _.”_

“Honestly,” Buri snapped. “Listened to a woman, once? Oh, _fair wonderous_ , best give him a prize. Vau East-Wind, lend me strength.” She stomped off to the palace. Raoul followed her, shaking his head. There was truth to what Buri said, but he felt Carac was a puzzle, nonetheless.


	3. Balor's Needle

It was a clear and cloudless day. Raoul had suggested to Buri that they take in a view. She was on her way to meet him now, having ridden out with Thayet in the morning.

Raoul waited in the shadow of Balor’s needle, his eyebrows knitted together. A group of three stormwings, one female and two male, perched on a low roof of the sprawling palace. Two more wheeled overhead.

They spread their wings in the late-spring sun and waddled around the rooftop, chattering to each other in low voices he could not quite make out. Blissfully, the wind blew the rotting stench away from Raoul.

“Not that I mind seeing your lovely faces,” Raoul called, “but shouldn’t you be settling somewhere more, well…”

“Hello to you, too, dear,” the female stormwing called back, flashing a grin at him. Her hair was a knotted, matted mess that fell just past her chin.

“Kind of you to worry for us,” a male stormwing added, and all three of them cackled. “But I think we’ll have plenty to amuse us here.”

“What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

“If we tell you, you might just ruin the fun!” the female said.

At that moment Buri emerged from the palace. She saw who Raoul was chatting with and scowled, drawing alongside him.

“Hello,” Raoul murmured, and kissed her cheek. “How’s Thayet?”

“Fine. She says hello. What’s that about?” Buri asked of the stormwings.

“Not a clue. They’re being cryptic.”

“Fun. Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

The inside staircase was a spiral that kept going—and going—and going. Halfway up, Buri said:

“Thayet must be smarter than me.”

“Why’s that?” Raoul asked, peering up at her from a half-dozen steps below. The spiral was too tight to comfortably walk side-by-side.

“She has the sense to never come up here.”

“ _You_ never minded heights.”

“It’s not the height. It’s that I married a man who decided to make me climb an endless flight of steps for a romantic view. And _here_ I thought you were the sensible type.”

“If you’d rather, we could just go to the archery range.”

“No, you started this. You aren’t backing out. Besides, you said you weren’t shooting against me anymore after that last wager.” Her voice had a wicked humor to it. She turned over her shoulder to grin at him.

“Yes, dear. I have my pride.” Raoul sighed and shrugged.

“And yet _I_ still fence against _you_ ,” Buri pointed out, and continued to climb. She trailed a hand over the railing.

“Well… we can both acknowledge you are my better half.”

He reached out to catch Buri right before the doorway. Standing on the lower step evened their height difference. Raoul kissed her firmly.

“As for marrying a sensible type? I’m not sensible when it comes to you.”

Buri blushed and turned away from him, but a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. She pushed open the doorway to a shock of daylight. The air was crisp and cool so high up.

They both stepped onto the platform and realized they were not the only lovebirds with the same idea. To one side, pressed against the wall, a couple was kissing. Raoul and Buri exchanged a glance and turned towards the door, not wanting to interrupt.

Then the couple jumped apart, and Raoul’s eyes widened in recognition. It was Carac and another young man, perhaps 18, who wore a palace servant’s uniform. Both young men were clearly panicking at being caught; they bolted for the outer stair since the inner was blocked. A discarded cloak lay on the ground, a puddle of fabric. Raoul picked it up.

“Carac, wait,” he said.

The man in the servant’s uniform kept running, but Carac spun.

“It isn’t what you think,” the page—or, squire now. Squire for the past two days—glared at Raoul with an anguished expression. He snatched the cloak and balled it up in his hands.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Raoul said.

Buri was silent, leaving knight and squire to their conversation.

“We weren’t—we aren’t…” Carac fumbled for words.

“I hardly care who you spend your time with, you know. It’s your own business.”

“My father can’t find out.” Carac whispered, his voice terrified.

“Well, he won’t. Not from Buri or myself. But if you’re so concerned, you might want to choose a private space next time. Not a part of the castle where anyone might wander. For his reputation, as well as your own.”

Carac bowed and walked stiffly to the outer stair, vanishing from view.

Raoul walked slowly to the edge of the tower, and stared out over the view. That was an instant distraction from his musings; Balor’s needle was so high that even without a fear of heights, Raoul felt his stomach plummet.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Buti asked, coming up behind him and placing a hand on his arm.

Raoul looked down at her apologetically.

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t think it excuses his attitude.”

“Well, of course it doesn’t. But it must be hard.”

“Life is hard,” Buri said coldly. She was sympathetic but had little tolerance for those who blamed their circumstances. Watching brutal civil war divide her country at age 13 had somewhat heightened her standards of ‘hardship.’

“Well, think of all the offers he’s gotten. Paxton of Nond? Quinden of Marti’s Hill? Of course he doesn’t want to squire to men like that.” Raoul scratched his chin. Oddly enough, Carac reminded him of nobody so much as he reminded Raoul of Lerant: bitter. Bitter and backed up against a wall.

“…you want to go after him, don’t you?” Buri asked, pulling her hand away.

“Not right now. He can wait one more afternoon.” Raoul put his arm around Buri and pulled her closer. “For now, let’s enjoy the view.”

Buri shuddered and looked down.

“Next time, let’s just go riding,” she said dryly.


End file.
